


The Intruder

by uena



Series: The Sweetest Thing [31]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-21 21:52:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6059398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uena/pseuds/uena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos gets home from work to find Athos and Aramis on the couch together. Something unexpected happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princeyoungjaes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princeyoungjaes/gifts).



Porthos is feeling … weird.

Off-kilter, if you like.

Half his kids - the older half - are off on a school excursion for one whole, horrible week. It’s as if one of his legs has suddenly gone missing … or maybe like that off-putting, uncomfortable sensation when you’re walking up a flight of stairs and meet even ground one step sooner than expected.

The breakfast table is a wasteland without them.

Admittedly, it’s also a wasteland when they’re present. A bunch of healthy, energetic children will lay waste to any kind of table, no matter how much food or supervision is present.

Porthos thinks it’s quite natural that he misses them. They’re his kids. That’s not the issue though. Well. Not the main issue.

The _main issue_ is that Charon and Flea sent him home early.

Because they don’t need him.

Flea actually said that.

Alright, she _also_ said that Porthos deserves more time with his grown-up honey buns, and that Aramis at least is in desperate need of a good shag. She added that while she has no idea what Athos does to relieve a little tension and get his inner freak going, she is certain that he probably wouldn’t object to seeing a little more of his favourite Porthos. _Then_ she sent him home.

Porthos had no arguments ready to defy her. He seldom does.

Worst of all was that the Captain actually agreed with her - not regarding the shag, because he wasn’t there for that part, thank goodness, but if Flea had told him, he probably would have. He’s that kind of man … that kind of Dad.

As a result Porthos is on his way home while it’s actually still light out on a nice February afternoon, feeling … weird. He’s also looking forward to snuggling Aramis on the couch. Maybe Athos too, if he’s in the mood.

He shoves his hands into his jeans pockets and lengthens his strides a little, holds his face up towards the sun.

After weeks of bleak, bleary, grey weather it is for once quite sunny today, lending colour to the not quite wintry landscape. In the park its and bits of green are raising their heads already, and Porthos stops by the north entrance for a moment, casting a longing glance over its brownish acres of frozen grass.

He can’t wait for spring to come.

Winter is nice of course, with its hot cocoa and treats and cuddling underneath a blanket, but now he’s ready for some nice warm evenings, strolling through the park or sitting up on the roof with Athos and Aramis.

Maybe Athos will actually get that roof garden he’s been talking about going. That would be quite the treat.

Porthos smiles to himself and enters their building, foregoing the elevator in favour of jogging up the stairs. He’s let himself go a little over Christmas, and has every intention of dazzling his boyfriends by improving his physique as much as possible by the time it gets warm enough to wear t-shirts - maybe even tank-tops - again.

Due to his being out of shape he’s a little breathless when he reaches the top landing, and it takes him a moment to fiddle his key into the door that locks the stairway against possible intruders.

Once he reaches the apartment door his heart rate has settled down, and since it’s his intention to surprise Aramis and Athos with his timely return from work he takes care to unlock that door as quietly as possible.

His reward is all that he could wish for.

When he rounds the corner to the living area, Aramis is asleep on the couch. He’s lying on his side, facing the room and curled in on himself, wrapped in his beautiful new blanket. His hair is tangled, obscuring half of his face - but not so much that it would hide the fact that he’s smiling in his sleep.

And that’s not even the best part.

The best part is Athos, sitting at an angle to him on the couch, his sketchbook on his knees, lost in contemplation of beauty incarnated. He’s holding his pencil in lax fingers, while his eyes rest on Aramis with such tenderness that Flea would probably start to make barfing noises if she could see him.

Not that Porthos blames him.

Athos’ sketch appears to be almost finished; he has captured Aramis’ blissful expression quite perfectly, and Porthos doesn’t say anything for a long moment, being quite aware that Athos hasn’t noticed his presence yet.

Eventually Athos turns his head though, and smiles up at him. “You’re home early.”

“That I am,” Porthos agrees with a little grin. “Having fun without me, eh?”

Athos clears his throat. “Not intemperately, I assure you.”

Porthos leans in and gives him a kiss. “Don’t be nonsensical. You can be as intemperate with the kitten as you wanna.”

He strokes his hand through Athos’ hair as he speaks, rubs a soft strand between his fingers. “Want me to cook somethin’ while you finish your masterpiece? I won’t watch you work, I promise.”

Athos sighs and relaxes his shoulders, closes his eyes under the gentle attention. “It does not need much more work - I was thinking about turning it into a painting for his parents. Do you think they would like that?”

“I think they’d love it,” Porthos murmurs, putting his fingertips under Athos’ chin to lift it into a proper kiss.

Athos lets him; Porthos has to hold back a growl.

Despite the years they’ve known each other and the number of times they have cuddled or shared a bed it still feels electrifyingly glorious each and every time Athos opens his mouth for him. Thus Porthos has to fight quite hard to keep control over himself, not only because he doesn’t want to alarm Athos by being too greedy, but because he enjoys the simple, light kisses they share more than he could ever try to explain.

Just to taste Athos is intoxicating. The little sounds he makes move all the way through Porthos, bubbly and invigorating like champagne.

He can’t get enough of it. Neither can Aramis.

Porthos has watched them kiss often enough to know that Aramis is just as much an addict to Athos’ kisses as Porthos is himself. While Aramis doesn’t have Porthos’ self-control, he turns so utterly soft under Athos’ caresses that there’s no danger of him ever overwhelming Athos by turning predatory.

With Athos, just as he is with Porthos, Aramis is an innocent little lamb in the bedroom. A fact that only serves to make Porthos more protective of the both of them.

Porthos sighs.

Great. Now he’s kind of horny.

At least he’s not feeling weird anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

Porthos retreats to the kitchen while Athos finishes his sketch, just like he’d promised.

Since he has an unusual amount of time at his command today he gets some chicken out of the freezer and tries his hand at the Teriyaki marinade he’d planned for the weekend. Once the sauce is finished and the chicken immersed he looks up to find Athos idle and distracted once more.

“Done?” he asks, wiping his hands on a dishtowel, and Athos nods, closing his sketchbook with an almost guilty demeanour.

Porthos grins at him. “Time to wake the kitten then.”

He advances purposefully, just to be stopped by a hand to his chest.

“Let him sleep,” Athos says softly, but stern. “He looks so peaceful.”

Porthos looks down at Athos’ hand, and he closes his own around Athos’ wrist, gently rubs his thumb over Athos’ pulse. “He’s gonna squirm back and forth all night if we don’t wake him now. You know that.”

Athos sighs, looking wistful. “I do know that. Still. Look at him.”

“He’s just as pretty awake as he’s asleep,” Porthos chuckles, removing Athos’ hand from his chest with gentle determination. He lifts it to his lips, brushes them over Athos’ knuckles. “Come on; let me at him.”

“As if I could stop you,” Athos murmurs, and Porthos smiles at him, leans in to press a kiss to his lips … light and sweet, almost teasing.

He sits down on the couch next to Aramis, in the curve between his elbows and his knees, reaches out to brush the hair off Aramis’ cheek. “Pretty as a picture,” he whispers, briefly looking up to meet Athos’ gaze.

“You’re all red,” he comments with a little grin.

Athos promptly blushes harder.

Porthos licks his lips, looks down at Aramis again. “I think I wanna …” With that he slides off the couch and goes down on his knees on the thick carpet, gently pushes Aramis on his back.

He yields easily, so relaxed and trusting that Porthos almost feels bad for what he’s about to do. Almost.

It’s just too hard to resist.

He puts his hand on Aramis’ belly, sneaks it under blanket and pullover onto naked skin - teases a sigh out of Aramis. Then he leans in and kisses him. That sigh sounded far too inviting not to.

Any doubts Porthos might have had left vanish with Aramis’ reaction. He opens his mouth to the slightest pressure of Porthos’ tongue, kisses him back right away. Porthos can hear him moan against his lips, and from the way Aramis moves under his hand he can tell that he’s opening his legs … responsive and inviting as ever.

It’s enough to send Porthos’ heart rate spiking.

Aramis tastes of peaches and cream, and Porthos very nearly loses himself for a moment, has to close his eyes and breathe through his nose in an effort to stay in control.

A shiver runs down his back, and he kisses Aramis harder, quite aware that Athos is watching them intently, that he listens to every little noise falling over Aramis’ lips. His presence makes Porthos feel hot all over, and eventually he has to pull back, has to take a few deep breaths and force himself to calm down.

Aramis is blinking up at him, sluggishly, still half asleep, his cheeks rosy, lips red and slick.

Porthos has to clear his throat. “Hey there, kitten.” It still sounds like a growl.

Aramis licks his lips and reaches out a hand from underneath his blanket, grabs Porthos’ collar. “You kissed me while I was sleeping.”

“I did,” Porthos admits.

“Do it some more,” Aramis whispers.

He pulls Porthos in and presses their mouths together, lips open and yearning right from the start. It is a dirty kiss, without finesse or precision, utterly greedy.

Still, Athos is watching them, neither turning away nor averting his gaze, and Porthos knows that if this goes on for much longer -

There’s a thump.

He breaks the kiss and lifts his head, frowning. “What was that?”

Next to him, Aramis is breathing harshly. “What was what? I didn’t -”

There’s another thump.

Aramis flinches. “I heard that one.”

“I think it is coming from my room,” Athos says, his voice level.

Porthos is already getting up. He strides over to the umbrella stand by the entrance door, grabs the baseball bat Flea gave him as a housewarming gift when he moved in with Athos.

He never had to use it. Apparently there’s a first time for everything.

By the time he’s reached the door to Athos’ room Athos and Aramis have caught up with him, the latter looking scared while Athos’ face is a perfect mask of determination.

He’s armed himself with a pan.

Porthos doesn’t comment on it. He knows how many times Athos had to watch Tangled with the Princess Squad.

A few comprehensive gestures ask Athos and Aramis to be quiet and stand back, and then Porthos grabs the door handle, tries to ignore the purposeful manner with which Athos is holding his pan.

He pushes the door open just when there’s another loud thump, pushes it with so much force that it bangs against the wall and sends the room’s occupant onto Athos’ wardrobe with a loud meow of caught dismay.

Porthos deflates like a relieved water balloon. “Jesus Christ, Miss Daisy.”

The cat immediately comes down from the wardrobe to streak around his ankles and purr.

Porthos groans, very carefully puts the baseball bat down, and lifts her up. “Did you have fun playing with Athos’ hamper, yes? Did you have to drag his clothes all over the place and give us a heart attack? Was that absolutely necessary?”

She purrs a little louder and butts up into his touch, and he turns his head left and right to exchange looks with Athos and Aramis. “Have we all been properly scared?”

“She’s such a sweetheart,” Aramis croons, both hands in the big cat’s long fur.

Athos is picking up his clothes. “I do not know what issue she has with my hamper. She always tries to get inside.”

“I think what she has an issue with is you goin’ around and stealin’ clothes from everyone,” Porthos says dryly, looking Athos up and down. “Those are Aramis’ pants, aren’t they. And that’s my flannel shirt.”

“I don’t mind,” Aramis says quickly.

Porthos dimples at him. “This isn’t about us, Aramis - it’s about Miss Daisy’s sensibilities. She spends so much time transferrin’ her fur onto Athos’ clothes, only to get confused when it turns out that they aren’t actually _his clothes_.”

He regards Athos with a baleful eye. “Isn’t that right, Monsieur Knitwear Pirate?”

“That was you,” Athos reminds him with a drawl.

Miss Daisy purrs energetically.

“Can we take her to the couch and cuddle her?” Aramis asks hopefully.

“Sure,” Porthos says, stamping down on any signs of regret in his tone or manner. “I can finish cookin’ while Athos and you spoil her rotten.”

The way Aramis smiles at him then goes a long way to soothe Porthos’ frustrated libido.


	3. Chapter 3

Miss Daisy has curled up on the end of the sofa by the time Porthos has finished cooking. She’s blissfully asleep, thick fur sticking up in all directions, head resting on her paws.

“I really think we should tell Miss Durham that she’s here,” Aramis says in a very low voice in an effort not to wake her.

“Oh, she knows,” Porthos replies, looking up from setting the table. “She’s not one to worry.”

As much as he loves Aramis and as much as he generally likes that cat, he’s just a bit peeved right now. A frustrated libido will do that to you. So he tries to ignore the animal and focuses on setting the table to Athos’ standards of symmetrie.

Despite his efforts, Athos doesn’t contribute anything to the conversation. He’s looking out of the window, frowning ever so slightly.

“What’re you hatching?” Porthos asks him, once he’s added silverware and napkins to the plates and is ready to set the wok on the table. “You’re lookin’ as if you’re miles away.”

Athos surfaces from his contemplations and turns his head, a reluctant smile in his eyes. “I really think it would be better for her if she had more space to roam.”

Porthos lifts one sceptical brow at him. “You’re aware that she can nip over the street and go into the park whenever she likes, yeah? All the other cats of the neighbourhood do, too.”

“Yes, but I have talked to Miss Durham, and apparently she does not like to leave the house. All she has managed so far is to go up the fire escape to get into my window.”

“For someone who doesn’t like to go out she manages that quite frequently,” Porthos mutters. “I prefer dogs,” he adds when Aramis eyes him askance. That only makes it worse. So he clears his throat. “I like cats, kitten - obviously, I do. I love em. It’s just that I had plans for this evenin’ and they didn’t involve Miss Daisy. If you get my drift.”

Aramis does not. Get his drift. That much is obvious. He does look very adorable though.

Porthos sighs; Athos snickers. He actually _snickers_.

“You’re not gettin’ any brokkoli,” Porthos says vindictively.

“And thus my world comes to an end,” Athos drawls, sitting down at the table. “Do you think the other tenants would enjoy a roof garden?”

“Apart from the cat, you mean?” Porthos huffs. “Yeah, sure. I for one would put deck chairs up there and grill.” He fills their plates with rice and Chicken Teriyaki and adds a generous amount of brokkoli to Athos’ plate without making any comment.

Aramis twinkles at Porthos when he sees it and bumps their knees together under the table. Porthos twinkles right back at him - makes him blush.

Athos nods to himself and then promptly resumes frowning. “I wonder if the roof would support a tree.”

Aramis goggles at him and stops playing footsie with Porthos under the table. “A tree?”

Athos shrugs. “It was merely an idea. To provide shade, you know.”

“Next thing we’d know would be that Miss Daisy is stuck up on that thing and that the fire department’s ladders don’t go up high enough to reach the top of our house PLUS a tree,” Porthos says comfortably, cutting into a slice of chicken. “But I guess I could always get her down. She doesn’t claw, after all.”

“No, she’s a trusting little angel,” Aramis agrees, smiling radiantly.

“Your little angel almost weighs fifteen pounds,” Porthos reminds him with a grin.

“Weight has nothing to do with it,” Aramis replies in a wounded voice. “I don’t understand what you have against her, all of a sudden - do we need to go and find you a puppy?”

Athos snickers again, doesn’t even stop when Porthos glares.

Aramis looks from one to the other, finally catching on to the fact that he’s missing something of importance here. “What? What are you two grinning about?”

“Nothing,” Porthos says innocently, brandishing the serving spoon. “Do you want more chicken?”

“Yes, please - it is really good,” Aramis says, smiling at him in thanks, just to turn around and shake off his attempt at distraction. “Athos, tell me what’s so funny.”

Athos clears his throat, suddenly looking decidedly shy.

Porthos is charmed, almost despite himself. “You know you’re quite absurd,” he tells Athos, very nearly laughing out loud when he sticks out his tongue at him. “Of course the roof supports a tree - it was build to withstand dragons. A little tree won’t make a dent.”

“That is of course good to hear,” Athos murmurs, looking ridiculously relieved that he doesn’t have to tell Aramis about Porthos’ frustrated libido.

Porthos loves him a lot.

Aramis pouts at them, quite aware of their tactics.

Porthos loves him a lot, too.

He winks at Aramis. “You do remember that we were kissin’ when the cat started wranglin’ Athos’ hamper, yeah?”

Aramis freezes in the act of lifting a piece of chicken to his mouth, and his eyes widen.

“Oh,” he says. Just that. Then he blushes rosily.

“Understand now why Miss Daisy’s not on my list of favourites at the moment?” Porthos asks, his heart brimming over with fondness. “You know how I loathe bein’ interrupted when I’m kissin’ you.”

“Yes, I know,” Aramis whispers, still blushing.

Porthos would love nothing more than to carry him off to his bedroom right this minute - but there’s food on the table and Athos to consider, so he puts his inner caveman on hold and pretends to be a cultivated human being instead.

“We can bring her back to Miss Durham after dinner,” Aramis suggests then, staring very hard at his plate.

Porthos has no trouble envisioning the embarrassed steam coming out of his ears.

“That is a splendid idea, kitten,” he agrees, his voice a little rough.

Athos is notably silent.

Porthos can’t stop himself. “You can watch, if you wanna.”

Aramis drops his fork.

“I’m sure Aramis won’t mind,” Porthos adds smoothly.

He’s quite pleased with the effect of his words.

They certainly couldn’t blush any harder if they tried.

**Author's Note:**

> another plot-bunny story!
> 
> inspired by [THIS](http://uenaina.tumblr.com/post/138778010764/sorry-another-bunny-porthos-comes-home-to-find) and [THIS](http://uenaina.tumblr.com/post/138779229934/i-sent-a-bunny-the-other-day-about-the-neighbours) little jumper
> 
>  
> 
> [](http://s1160.photobucket.com/user/uenainauena/media/viecher/tumblr_n32ij82rmq1rszf90o9_500.gif.html)  
> 
> 
>  
> 
> aren't they adorable?


End file.
